Where We Belong
by musiclover670
Summary: "How often do you have them?" she asks. "Your nightmares?" "Every night." Eponine and Enjolras survive the Revolution, and try to rebuild their lives and move past what has happened. But the past always finds a way back to you.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: This is my first fanfic for something like this, but I'm giving it my best shot, tell me what you guys think, please. **

**Disclaimer: _Les Misérables_** ** belongs to Victor Hugo. I own nothing, except the plot.**

Chapter 1

_There's a grief that can't be spoken.__  
__There's a pain goes on and on.__  
__Empty chairs at empty tables__  
__Now my friends are dead and gone._

_Les Misérables_

"You're alive."

Éponine whirls, not just because of the familiarity of the owner's voice, but also due to the accusation underlying the tone as each word is said. She stares into a pair of blue eyes, just as she'd seen them in her dreams and nightmares.

"As are you," she replies simply, her voice hoarse from not being used in a few days.

Enjolras eyes narrow slightly. She looks the same as always: dark wild tangled hair, dark eyes, and a thin frame covered by tattered and dirty rags. Enjolras notes that she has changed from clothes at the barricade, instead of boy's clothes; she is back in her green top and brown skirt once again. She looks him over as he does her. Her eyes ask the question she doesn't say aloud, _how are you still alive?_

She isn't the only one wondering.

Enjolras clears his throat quietly. He can't help but feel a little annoyed at himself. Here he was, the fearless revolution leader, without words. She notices this. Her lips twitch slightly in amusement.

"How did you get out?" he finally manages to ask.

Éponine's eyes cast downwards to stare at her bare feet. She shifts her weight onto her other leg and fiddles with her fingers. She swallows around the dryness in her throat.

"I…I don't know," she admits. She meets his eyes. Brown clashing with blue. "But I did, that's all that matters."

Enjolras averts his eyes away from her. The guilt presses against his chest. _He_ was responsible for her injuries, after all. She may be breathing now but the others; his friends – his comrades, his _brothers_ – were not. And it was all his fault. He did this.

"Monsieur?" her tone is soft and hesitant. He doesn't meet her eyes. He waits for her to speak again, but the words out of her mouth are not what he expects. He never knows what to expect with Éponine. "When was the last time you've eaten?"

He feels himself shrug. He truly does not know. Why should it matter, anyways? Why should he get to live while everyone else he knew lay six feet under? He finally brings himself to look at her. She is still thin, all skin and bones, but she does not look hungry for once.

"Who nursed you?"

"Mademoiselle Baptistine," she answers quietly. "I left her care this morning. And you, Monsieur, who cared for you?"

"A medical friend of Joly's. As a favor to him."

He wishes his voice didn't sound so bitter. But they should've just left him to die. Death would've been easier. At least, he'd be with everyone. He glances at the bag at Éponine's side.

"Departing?" he asks.

She glances at her bag and nods.

"It is time to move on," she says quietly. She looks at him earnestly. "Would you like to come with me?"

"Why?" the word leaves his mouth before he can stop it. She shrugs.

"Because…because…I don't know! Why not? So what will it be, bourgeois boy?"

"I'm not worthy of company."

She surprises him by rolling her eyes. She strides toward him, moving as quick and silent as water. Her skinny fingers wrap themselves around his wrist and she tugs. For someone that looks like she could snap in half, he can feel the strength coursing through her veins.

"Nor am I, looks like we're a match made in heaven. Now hurry up, we've already lost enough time."

He shakes his head at her. Her persistence is both admirable and irritating. Enjolras does not like being told what to do, one of the factors that fueled his passion for the revolution. His family telling him what they expected of him, of what he should expect from himself. And how those not in the same class were beneath them. Enjolras nearly rolls his eyes. He lets Éponine tug him down the streets. He is still limping due to his injuries, not having fully recovered when he left, but he keeps up with her pace easily. She reaches into her bag with her free hand and pulls out a roll of bread, she hands it to him.

"Eat," she says.

"Not unless you-" he tries to hand it back to her. She shakes her head, her hair flying around her.

"I had my share already," she says impatiently. "Eat, bourgeois boy. The last thing we need is you collapsing from hunger."

"I'm called Enjolras," he says. He bites into the food she hands to him. It tastes heavenly on his tongue. It must've been days since he's eaten anything that wasn't stale. The roll is freshly baked. Part of him wonders where she got it.

She smirks at him. There are gaps in her teeth but her smile is still somehow endearing. "I know."

He finishes the bread and bows his head toward her.

"Thank you," he says.

"It was nothing. I know hunger when I see it."

A haunted look overcomes her face. The hard life she must've had to endure for years. The effects are still evident on her face, but the young youth she obtained before still clings on, showing that perhaps it may not be too late for the gamine. He doesn't realize he's been staring at her while they were walking, until she's looking back at him.

"What? You keep staring at me."

"My apologies. May I ask where we are headed?"

"I haven't thought that far ahead," she says. "Any ideas?"

Just one.

The first time he noticed the gamine, it had been at one of the meetings at Le Café Musain. Though dressed as a boy, hidden in the back of the café, Enjolras immediately recognized the sheep in wolf's clothing, the mademoiselle in disguise. Women were not allowed in Café Musain, yet here she was. She followed Marius around like a shadow; he soon began to call her that, and mostly kept to herself. She was silent, wanting to avoid drawing attention to herself, but she always listened. To the random chatter of the students or Enjolras speeches. She came back regularly, even on the days Marius did not.

He began to watch her out of the corner of his eye, studying her reaction to the world around her, wanting to know what she thought, even if she didn't verbally express it. In his orations, she would unconsciously lean forward, her head slightly lifted in his direction as he spoke. She tapped her fingers lightly on the table, drumming them against the surface in tune with his words. When her presence filled the room, his words took on more meaning, more passion about their cause and it made him feel better that she was there, and she was listening to him, and only him.

The first time they spoke, he had stepped out for some fresh air, and a voice spoke to his left.

"What makes a bourgeois boy like you want to start a revolution?"

He turned quickly and standing in the shadows was the object of his thoughts. She was leaning against the brick wall, dressed for once in feminine attire, a green top and a long brown skirt. Her hair fell around her shoulders, wild and tangled. She was scrutinizing him with those dark eyes of hers. Her face was covered in grim.

"Those that suffer," he said. But the real message lingered in the air, _People like you_.

"The suffering did not ask for assistance," she told him. "What makes you think they want it?"

"Whether they want it or not, equality belongs to everyone."

She pushed off the wall, her bare feet pattering across the cold pavement, not making a sound as she made her way to stand in front of him. She moved like a ghost, silent and deadly. She smiled slightly at him. The cold night air breezed by. She shivered but otherwise gave no indication she was cold.

"Even the wicked and the convicts?" she questioned. She wanted to prove him wrong. That equality should be bestowed upon those that deserve it. She for one didn't.

"They were not born wicked or convicts, they were born human beings. And humanity was created to be treated fairly."

"Life isn't fair," she muttered grimly. Marius stumbled out of the café, looking drunk but nether less in a good mood.

"Éponine!" he cried out in joy. "Éponine!"

"Monsieur Marius," she greeted, tearing her eyes away from Enjolras. She looked mildly concerned and worried. "You look…drunk. Very drunk, in fact."

"I _am _drunk," he agreed. "Drunk and in love. Oh Cosette! My dear, Cosette, where is she now?"

Éponine sighed, a look of hurt on her face. She squared her shoulders and went to help steady Marius as he continued to sway and stumble in his steps. She drew his arm around her shoulder. She looked one more time at Enjolras.

"_Au revior_, Monsieur," she said.

"Mademoiselle," he said in return. She laughed, bleak and empty. The light from the café and the shifting of her stance to up hold Marius' weight caused shadows to be cast across her face. And when she spoke her voice was grave and serious.

"I am no Mademoiselle."

With that, she led Marius away into the night.

Enjolras is broken out of his stupor when Éponine begins to hum. It is a tuneless song, with no actual meaning, but it lightens the mood. She skips lightly in her steps, like a bird about to take flight.

"How much further?" she asks. Enjolras looks around; the environment is foreign yet strangely familiar, as if he was walking through a half remembered dream.

"A few more miles," he says. The night air blows through his hair, causing a few curls to lose their place. Éponine has the urge to push it back. She shivers, wrapping her arms around herself. This isn't her first time to be in a predicament like this, but this is the first time anyone other than her family has ever seen it. Enjolras strips off his coat and drapes it over her shoulder. She shakes her head.

"No-"

"Éponine I'm not going to make you travel through the dead of night so that you can freeze to death."

It is a kind gesture; no one has ever shown her this extent of compassion. The desired result backfires, Éponine feels more annoyed than grateful. She is Éponine Thénardier and she refuses to accept help. She is independent, stubborn, and has fought for survival for most of her life. She tenaciously hands Enjolras back his coat.

"I'll survive," she bites out. "Just as I always have."

"I have no doubt about that."

He sighs. He folds his coat against his arm. If she wants to suffer through the cold than so will he. The cold would be bearable if they hadn't been exposed to it all night. The weather seeps into Enjolras clothes, causing his body to shiver from the sudden iciness of the night. He has new found respect for Éponine, whom suffered silently through this not just for this night, but others as well.

"How about we stop for the night?" he suggests. There is a small inn nearby, just two buildings down. He gestures towards it with his head. Éponine shakes her head.

"Anywhere but an inn. I'd rather sleep on the street."

"I'll pay for it," he starts.

Éponine grits her teeth. She crosses her arms over her chest and she goes rigid all over, frozen in place. Enjolras can go stay there himself and come get her in the morning. She will _not _enter another inn. She can feel her body attempting to shut down on itself, to give her body the rest it needs. She forces herself to stand up straighter, focusing on everything around her with more effort than necessary.

"I'm not worried about the cost," her voice is harsh and cold. "I refuse to enter a building that constantly reminds me of where my life went to hell."

"Then where do you suggest we spend the night?"

"You can go and rest there. I'll be out here on the street. Fetch me when you wake."

She turns away from him and begins to walk away. He catches up to her in three strides. He reaches out without thinking and grabs her arm. He spins her around.

"Don't be foolish. I would never let a lady spend the night on her own, especially not on the streets."

She glares at him. Of course, by saying what he did, he is making her sound weak. And that is one thing that Éponine is not. She yanks her arm angrily out of his grasp.

"I've done it for years!"

He would've protested further except the sound of horse hooves racing down the street reaches his ears. She hears it, too. A look closely resembling panic crosses her face.

"Hide," she hisses. She grabs his hand and begins running down the street, pulling him behind her. Reality finally dawns on him, crashing like a wave, and he begins to run at full speed until he overtakes her and she is the one being led. His limp causes pain to shoot through his leg, he ignores it for both their safety. They have a few seconds now. He pulls her into the nearest alley. As he pivots to check on her, he is surprised when he feels her tiny hands press against his chest and shoves him toward the wall. His back collides with the moss covered bricks and he grunts. Éponine chest is heaving as she tries to catch her breath and she peeks out the alleyway before pushing them both further into the shadows. Her hand clamps over his mouth and she makes a shushing sound right at his ears. Her own breathing lowers until he can hardly hear it. He wonders if she can hear the pounding in his heart, due to their proximity of each other. Her free hand is gripping at his arm, fisted into the fabric tightly.

They stand like that until the sound of hooves pounding on the dirt ground fade away. She removes her hands and steps away.

"You're a wanted man, Monsieur Enjolras. The National Guard wants your dead corpse at their feet. We're going to have to be more careful from now on."

"_Gratias agimus tibi_, Éponine," he murmurs.

She nods, accepting his words because while she doesn't understand, she has a feeling she knows what he just said. He normally fell back into using Latin and French for small things. They step out of the shadows and into the dim light. Éponine follows him toward the inn he pointed out and she had patently refused. She places her hand on his arm as they approach.

"I never wanted to return to anything remotely similar to this, but I will if it means that we won't have to worry about the Guards capturing you."

He hears the sacrifice in her words, the haunting that she's going to shove away so that his safety will be ensured.

"Éponine, you don't have to do this."

"It's just for one night. It won't kill me." She seems to be assuring herself more than him. He begins to reach for her hand then stops. This is probably the last thing she wants him to do.

As promised he pays for the room. It is a dingy room with gray walls, a musty smell, and a small bed. There is a tub and sink in the farthest corner of the room. Enjolras wrinkles his nose. He glances at his companion only to see her shutting her eyes, trying to rid her mind of memories that will never fully disappear. She must feel his eyes on her because suddenly they open and he is staring into her dark eyes. They are flecked with gold and he finds them pretty and intimating – just like her.

"We should rest," he says. There is a quiet knock on the door; he goes to open it, only to find no one on the other side. At his feet, there are two baskets, each filled with clothing for each of them. Enjolras glances down both hallways but find them empty.

"Who is it?" he hers Éponine ask behind him.

"No one," he tells her. "Only baskets filled with clothes."

He snatches them up and brings them into the room, closing the door shut behind him.

"We must look worse than I thought," she says, a smile gracing her lips.

A smile forms on his lips. He is in borrowed clothes from Joly's friend, the coat he wore to the revolution still dangling on his arm. Her clothes are still ragged and tattered but not smeared in dirt. She reaches for the basket meant for her at the same time he hands it over. Her fingers rifle through the dresses inside, pulling a simple white nightgown from the pile. She goes off into the corner to change and pulls her top off. Enjolras stares at her back, at how her waist curves in. He clears his throat quietly and looks away. It is not gentlemanly to gawk at a maiden that he is not married to. He heads over to the bed and slides in beneath the covers. He hears the window slide open and the night air wafts into the room. The other side of the bed dips as her weight occupies it and he rolls over in time to see her pull the thin blanket over her form.

"Goodnight Monsieur," she says.

She closes her eyes and in a few minutes her breathing evens out. Her face relaxes and she looks young and vulnerable and beautiful in the moonlight.

"Goodnight, Éponine," he whispers, closing his eyes to welcome the darkness and memories of those fateful few days in June that lurks in the depths of his mind.

Death and bloodshed. Gunshots and cries of the wounded. Enjolras stands in the middle of it. He is paralyzed to move, forced to watch as his friends get gunned down, and they are beginning for his help, pleading with him to not abandon him.

"Enjolras?"

It is a whisper in the middle of all the chaos. A voice he wants to find in the crowd but cannot. He continues to search wanting to keep her away. He does not want to see her perish twice. The guns are trained on him now. He waits for bullets to pierce his body once more, better him than her.

"Enjolras, wake up." Someone is shaking his shoulder. "Wake up!"

His eyes fly open and he sits upright in bed, nearly hitting her in the process. Her hand is still lying on his shoulder, fingers clamped down on his shirt. She looks tired and he sees the effort she has to put in to keep herself from falling back to sleep.

"I'm fine," he says. "I apologize for waking you." She moves her hand and draws her knees up, wrapping her skinny arms around them. She props her chin on top of them. Enjolras pushes the hair that sticks to his forehead from the sweat his nightmares creates.

"How often do you have them?" she asks. "Your nightmares?"

She turns her head, so her cheek is now the one pressed against her knees, to look at him. Enjolras glances out the window, it is nearly dawn. He can see the sky begin to light up.

"Every night," he says.

She nods because she understands. And looking at her, he is grateful for her presence. Because it proves that he is not alone, not anymore.

**Author's Note: Review.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews guys. If the story seems a little fast paced, I'm sorry. I'm just jotting down whatever pops into my head. So please bear with me. I don't own Les Misérables it is all Victor Hugo's work.**

Chapter 2

_The rain is gonna fall, the sun is gonna shine_

_The wind is gonna blow, the water's gonna rise_

_She said, when that day comes, look into my eyes_

_Sweet and Low_

"Every night," he says.

Éponine nods. Of course, he suffers through nightmares; it was _his_ rebellion after all. His friends that died out there. But he isn't the only one that suffers from memories that morph into dreams he can't escape. She shudders at the images that plague her nightly. Éponine gazes at him thoughtfully, he's pale and there's a haunted look in his eyes.

"What do you do when you wake up from them?"

"Try and fall back asleep." He sits up now, however, and leans against the wall. He knows that he will not be able to drift into unconsciousness again. Éponine presses her lips together. "What do you do?"

She shrugs. "Wait until exhaustion finally overtakes me."

The two fall into an awkward silence. Éponine waits for one of them to speak, when they just sit there and stare at each other; she gets out of bed and paddles across the room. She is in the middle of washing her fade when he speaks.

"We should get going before the sun comes out. I want to get far from before the National Guard comes around again."

She nods, patting her face dry with the towel that hangs nearby. She grabs the basket and stares at the three remaining dresses. Éponine changes into a light gold dress, a dress her family would've never been able to afford. It is beautiful, long and fitting like silk. She turns around to see that Enjolras has changed as well. He is wearing a white long sleeve and black trousers. He is also shrugging on his red waist coat.

"Ready?" she asks.

There is a look in Enjolras' eyes that she can't place. He turns away from her to stare out the window before she can decipher what it is. When he does look at her, his face is calm and peaceful – a marble statue. He doesn't say anything; he simply walks out the door. Éponine hastily grabs her bag and follows. Éponine is light on her feet and fast, but even with her swiftness she has to jog to keep up with his long strides. They step out into the cool morning air. Éponine smiles, this is her favorite time of the day. Those quiet few moments before the sun rises and a new day begins. They continue down their path, Enjolras stops by a bakery and buys a loaf of bread with the last money he has. He breaks it in half and hands her the bigger piece. Enjolras talks about a bunch of random topics; Éponine listens half-heartedly while they eat. He is making conversation for her benefit. To her they are just stories; places and events and memories that she could've never taken apart in. Éponine can't help but stare at him as he talks; there are still remnants of the passionate Revolutionary leader inside. Though the flames have dulled to barely a flicker of light, Éponine can still see it and it makes her glad for some reason. She thinks of Marius, whom she heard was still alive. She wonders – and secretly hopes – if she will see him again. That hope crumbles as she thinks of the beautiful blonde woman he loves. He must've found her after the barricade. No doubt they are married now. A flash of pain fills her chest and she does her best to ignore it. It takes her a moment before she realizes Enjolras is speaking to her.

"What?" she asks. His lips twitch fighting a smile or a frown, she cannot be sure.

"Do your feet ever hurt?" he asks, motioning his head to her feet. She glances down, her feet were dirty and she hates to admit hurting.

"Sometimes," she says with a shrug. "It's nothing to worry about. I'm used to it."

He opens his mouth to protest but closes it. Éponine waits for him to say whatever he wants to. He never does. He changes topics, this time it's on books he's read. Éponine smiles, fortunately some of the titles are familiar. They cover a great distance in a short amount of time, pushing through the early morning sun till the burning heat in the afternoon. It isn't until the sun is about to set in the sky that he begins to quiet down. He shoves his hands into his pockets. Éponine glances around; it is a new neighborhood, and one she has never been to before. It is one of the nicer neighborhoods, where the rich live. Enjolras grabs her elbow lightly. They head toward a large mansion with an iron gate surrounding it. The front gate opens as they approach. Enjolras walks up the path leading up the front door, Éponine lagging behind. She tilts her head to the side. Enjolras grip on her elbow is gentle but rigid, his shoulders tense. She runs her fingers through her waves. As they halt to a stop in front of the door, Enjolras takes a deep breath and knocks loudly. There is some scuffling on the end before the door is thrown open by a house maid; standing behind her is a woman with caramel colored hair and blue eyes. Behind her, opens a huge foyer with spiral staircases on either side.

"Enjolras?" she finally says. She looks as if she is in a dream. She pushes past the maid, who scurries off. Éponine keeps her attention on Enjolras face; he smiles attentively and bows his head.

"Mother," he greets. "You look lovely. May we come in?"

* * *

Éponine gnaws on her fingernails to keep her nerves under control. Enjolras' mother continues to stare at her while her son explains their story – the meetings at Café Musain, the barricade, and how he came home because he had no idea what to do next. They are seated in the back porch drinking tea. After hugging her only son for dear life and crying in happiness at his presence, Mademoiselle Enjolras ushered the young couple to the porch to "catch up and fill in the missing details." Éponine kept to herself, her fingers gripping her tea cup absorbing the warmth. Enjolras finishes his story. Enjolras' mother presses her lips together in a tight line.

"Your father will not like that you've returned home, Enjolras."

"I know."

Her eyes light up and she folds her hands into her lap.

"However I am delighted that you have returned and therefore I will deal with your father's wrath."

Enjolras smiles and Éponine likes how well it suits his "fiery beauty" (the words many maidens used to describe him) His mother has the same beautiful smile on her face. Suddenly her eyes fall back on Éponine and they harden a little.

"How did you meet this…mademoiselle?" she asks.

_Say it_, Éponine thinks. _Go on. Street urchin. Low life. Gamine_.

Éponine isn't the only one who notices her hesitation. Enjolras glances at Éponine but she refuses to acknowledge him. She stares at her hands, picking at her chewed on fingernails. His gaze is just as intense and his mothers.

"She came by the café often," he says. "Her brother Gavroche assisted us greatly during the barricade."

Éponine jerks her head up in surprise. How did he know Gavroche was her brother? Looking in Enjolras' eyes she knows the answer, her brother must've spoken of her when she was not around. _That sneaky little devil…_Éponine allows a small smile to grace her lips. Her brother always found time to sit by her in the café even just for a few minutes. He knew her even as she tried to disguise herself to blend in. Enjolras' mother nods and doesn't ask about his whereabouts now. Éponine is grateful for that. She does not want to think of her brother's death, not now at least.

"Your parents aren't looking for you?" she asks.

Éponine mentally rolls her eyes. Her parents haven't cared to look for her when she went missing before, so why would now be any different? And for the sake of this family, she hopes she never meets her parents again. No doubt, they'll want her to help them steal from this family. God knows what her father would to her if she refused.

"No. They must think I perished at the barricade," Éponine mumbles.

"I'm going to show Éponine around," Enjolras cuts in. He stands up. "Or is there something else you wanted to discuss, Mother?"

"No. Not now, my son." She stands up, too. "I will see the two of you at supper."

Enjolras holds out his hand for Éponine and she takes it, gripping it like a lifeline. She gets to her feet and lets him lead her down the porch steps into the garden.

"Well done," he says under his breath. "Most mademoiselles' wouldn't last as long as you did under my mother's scrutinizing."

"It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be," she lies.

Her heart begins to pound as she thinks of Mademoiselle Enjolras' unwavering intense stare and Éponine cannot help but think if Enjolras is marble then his mother is diamond.

"Liar," he says. Éponine laughs lightly and grins at him.

* * *

"Anywhere else you would like to venture to?" Enjolras asks as they leave the library. They had walked back to the house after their talk in the Garden and he wasted no time showing her around. She saw the parlor, dining room, kitchen, music room, and now library. Éponine is positive that she will still get lost around here without him. The streets of Paris were much easier to navigate than this house. Éponine can feel the fatigue of the day weighing her down. Thinking of everything that happened from the last couple of months is fighting its way back to her and she wants to find a way to forget them.

"Actually if it isn't too much to ask I'd like to take a nap."

"Of course," Enjolras answers quickly. "Come."

He begins to walk up the spiral staircase, not looking back to see if she's following just expecting her to. Éponine does follow him, her footsteps light and quiet. Enjolras goes left and walks to the door at the farthest end of the hall. He opens the door and the two step into the room. It is a large bedroom quarters, with wide windows and a large bed in the center with two bed stand tables.

"This is my room," Enjolras says. "You may sleep in here until we find a permanent room for you to lodge in."

"Are you sure?"

He nods.

"I'll collect you before dinner, Mademoiselle."

"Éponine," she corrects. "Please, I'd prefer if you call me by my name."

"Very well. Then I am Enjolras to you."

He heads toward the door. He closes the door softly behind him. Éponine crawls under the covers and falls asleep the instant her head touches the pillow. A few hours later, Éponine wakes up startled. The bed sheets are tangled around her waist. She leans a little toward the door, instantly hearing the yells and screams that a door cannot block out.

Enjolras' father is home.

Heart pounding and anxiety rising, Éponine swings her legs over the end of the bed and shivers when her bare feet touch the cold floor. She silently makes her way over to the door and opens it. Immediately, she can detect Enjolras' voice as well as another deeper angrier voice responding to Enjolras' words. Éponine heads toward the stairs keeping as close to the shadows in the house as she can.

"You should've died at that barricade!"

"Did you think I _tried_ to survive?!"

Éponine peaks her head around the corner. The small family is s standing in the center of the foyer. Enjolras' dad looks just like him but a much older version with an aura that sparks immediate fear inside you. Both men are red in the face so Éponine can guess this argument has been going on for longer than she thought.

"Do you have any idea of the shame you've brought on this family? How much work I've put in to assure that our reputation wasn't tarnished by your foolish actions?"

"I did what was right, Father," Enjolras snaps. Éponine watches as he balls his hands into fists. He is breathing heavily. "I do not regret my actions."

"Michael please!" Enjolras' mother pleads. She is the only thing standing between the two men. She turns to her husband desperately. "He's home now. I will not have you throw my son out into the streets."

"Let him leave!" his father yells. "It's all he's good at!"

Enjolras locks his jaw. He opens his mouth to reply when suddenly he is not his father's interest anymore. His eyes are locked on Éponine. Éponine flinches away from the burning hatred in his eyes.

"And who is this, hussy?" he roars. "You've brought a _street urchin_ to our home? That's just like you!"

Éponine has been called worse things. She's been beaten and thrown in jail. She is tough and unbreakable. But she can't help but wince at the words that pour out of Michael Enjolras' mouth, for while they are directed at her they are meant for his son.

"Insult me all you want, Father," Enjolras says. His voice is hard and cold, the anger evident as he says the words through gritted teeth. "But I will not stand by and listen to you insult my fiancé."

"Fiancé?!" his father roars. He turns and begins to yell at his son. Mademoiselle Enjolras is staring at him, too.

"Fiancé?" his mother echoes in shock and disbelief.

"_Fiancé_?" Éponine whispers in bewilderment. She clings to the wall for balance. Enjolras looks at her to make sure she won't faint but he does not take back his words. Éponine doesn't know what to do. In the end, she doesn't have to do anything. Enjolras walks out of the house the front door slamming shut loudly. Éponine waits until his parents walk away towards the library or the parlor. She heads down the stairs and out the front door. Enjolras is leaning against the wall, arms crossed in front of his chest. He doesn't look at her when he speaks.

"Walk with me," he says.

**Author's Review: So…what do you think?**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Sorry for the long update, I had other plans for this chapter but this is how it ended up. Thank you guys so much for your reviews. I'm sorry for the errors in the last chapter, I noticed them too late. But thank you for sticking with my story. Hope you're not disappointed.**

Chapter 3

_And I will be your heart, when you feel like it's over_

_And I will pick you up, when your whole world shatters_

_Not Alone_

Neither one of them breathe a word. They walk side by side in slow measured paces as if they can't get enough of the night and want to enjoy it while it lasts. The moonlight is the only way they can properly see their surroundings. Enjolras keeps his attention on some far off point in the distance. Éponine walks until she can't take it anymore.

"Fiancé?" She asks quietly. Enjolras head snaps up like he forgot he wasn't alone. He runs his hand over his face and through his hair.

"Ah…I apologize for not warning you beforehand. It was the only thing I could come up with. Are you upset with me?"

"No," she says. She really isn't. "I'm…sorry."

He looks over at her in surprise. Eyebrows raised in question.

"For what?"

Éponine suddenly finds the rose bushes as the most interesting thing in the world. She refuses to meet his eyes. Enjolras waits. Éponine doesn't look at him. She does not want to see what emotion he might let slip through. Or worse, not show any at all.

"I don't know exactly," she admits. But she does. She just won't admit it to him. "I just am."

She shudders against the cold. Her bare feet stepping on the prickling grass. Éponine relishes in the feeling. She feels free, safe for the first time in her life. At least for a few moments. Let her enjoy it while she can. When she isn't looking, Enjolras is looking at her. Her cheeks are gaunt and her lips chapped from the weather, her hair tumbles tangled all around her nearly touching her waist. She rubs her eyes for a few seconds, willing the tiredness to disappear. A yawn escapes her lips before she can suppress it.

"We woke you, didn't we?"

She shrugs. It doesn't matter. Enjolras sighs. Hopefully, he could keep her out of the way of his father's line of fire. Éponine twists her hair into a bun to keep it from flying all around her. Enjolras clears his throat to get her attention.

"If you'd like, you may go back to sleep-"

She shakes her head quickly. She hums to distract herself, the only thing she truly brought – other than her clothes on her back and her bag - with her from her old life. Everything else, all the thievery and cunning and beatings, were left behind. She had been given a new life, a second chance, and be it by God's will or some other divine force she wasn't going to ignore it. And neither should the person standing quietly beside her.

"Why do you think we survived?" she asks.

Enjolras stiffens. And there it is: the marble man that all his friends shamelessly called him. He straightens up; his expression much like it was back at the inn. He puts a million miles between himself and Éponine. His actions irk her.

"Supper should be ready soon. We should go back."

Éponine wants to glare at him. Yet she doesn't. She _can't_. Her annoyance slips away like sand slipping through her fingers. Talking about why the survived would be dangling all his loses in front of his face, proving to him that his friend's deaths were for nothing. Éponine may be a headstrong manipulative person with a bad temper when tested, but she isn't heartless.

"As you wish," she mutters.

She follows behind him. When they enter the house he disappears upstairs without a glance back. Éponine huffs. He didn't have to be so closed off all the time. They both had people they cared about in that barricade. He isn't the only one that is guilty for being alive while so many others died. _He is guiltier than you could ever be,_ her brain tells her.

_I know,_ she snaps back. Someone taps her one the shoulder. Éponine whirls around. The house maid that opened the door for her and Enjolras earlier today gives her a tight smile.

"Monsieur Enjolras has instructed me to get you ready for Supper, Mademoiselle."

Where was she when he ordered this? Éponine is not used to such lavish treatment; she stands there shell-shocked for a few seconds. The housemaid gestures her to follow him.

"Thank you, Mademoiselle," Éponine manages to get out. The housemaid smiles slightly at her.

"I am Evangeline to you, my dear. Not Mademoiselle."

"Éponine."

Evangeline laughs. Éponine follows her up the stairs and to where her bath has been prepared. She sheds her gold dress and slides into the lukewarm water. Evangeline scrubs the dirt off Éponine's skin until it feels raw. She also gets the grime out of Éponine's hair and slowly gets the tangles undone. Éponine can feel herself drifting off as the older woman runs her fingers lightly through her hair. No one's ever done this for her. Not even her mother when she was a child, and that was when her parents were kinder and more loving.

"All done, Mademoiselle Éponine."

Éponine eyes snap open and she pulls herself into a proper sitting position. The water around her is a dark brown, but Éponine feels much lighter and cleaner. She smiles at Evangeline as she rises and wraps a towel around her skinny frame. Evangeline disappears from the room for a few moments and then comes back with a white dress in her hands.

"Mademoiselle Enjolras thought you might like one of her old gowns until we can get you some for your own."

Éponine smiles and Evangeline lays the dress on the chair. She hands Éponine a corset and helps her tie the laces. Éponine puts the dress on and Evangeline grins. She grabs Éponine by the shoulders and turns her so that she is looking at her reflection. Éponine stares at herself and she sees the life she would've had if she were brought up by a wealthy family. Then she thinks of how many of those rich schoolboys died for trying to change the world and she turns away. She blinks back tears and gives Evangeline a tight smile. The house maid guides her to the dining room. Éponine doesn't want to enter; her steps slow down until she is trailing behind Evangeline. A hand presses against the small of her back. Éponine jumps and whirls her fist prepared to strike but is caught in mid-air and held there.

"Whoa," Enjolras says, lowering both their hands. "Didn't mean to startle you."

Éponine pulls her hand away, her face flushing red. "I'm sorry. You surprised me."

_Well you _always_ surprise me_, he thinks.

"I won't do it again," he promises. "I just noticed you didn't seem like you wanted to go inside."

"I'm fine," she lies. To prove it, she begins to walk toward the dining room with quick fleeting steps. Enjolras catches up with no problem. He stops her before she passes through the doors.

"About earlier in the garden…"

Éponine shakes her head. "I shouldn't have brought it up. I understand you aren't ready to talk about it. But just so you know Mons-_Enjolras_," she corrects herself in time. "The past doesn't just _go away_. It lingers around the edges of our lives until it can push its way into the present. Because, at the end of it all, we all have to face our demons sometime."

"Have you faced yours, Éponine?"

Éponine seems taken-aback by his question. Surprise flickers across her face before anger registers. She glares at him. He expects a harsh answer or a rude remark, she doesn't deliver either one. Instead she straightens her shoulders and walks into the room ahead of him. _Great. Now she's angry._ Enjolras walks in, just as Éponine sits herself down beside his mother. He sits across from her, as far away as he can get from his father who is seated at the head of the table. Éponine wonders if there will be another screaming match between the two men. The tension in the air is palpable. It doesn't ease down throughout the entire supper; Éponine keeps her head down for good measure. It isn't until dessert that Enjolras' father speaks. He more than just speaks, he stands up his chair falling and slamming into the ground. He glares at the _engaged _couple.

"I will not tolerate it any longer!" he shouts. "I am not going to sit here like we're a happy family!"

"You don't even know what happiness is," Enjolras counters under his breath.

"I will not have our family name tarnished by your indiscretions any longer!" his father continues. "I did not ask you to come home, Nikolas. The only reason you are still here is because of your mother-"

Éponine closes her eyes for a moment. So that was his real name – Nikolas. It suits him.

"Then kick me out," Enjolras snaps. Éponine cannot call him his first name. He'll always be Enjolras to her. It was how she was introduced to him anyways. "You've done it before! Go on!"

"Enough," Enjolras' mother screams. "No more! Michael we talked about this. Leave them alone."

"You talked about this," he retorts. "I have not agreed to anything. He can leave and take that strumpet with him!"

"Don't you dare call her that!" Enjolras is on his feet, too. "You don't know anything about her!"

"Do you?"

"I know a lot more than you, Father."

Michael Enjolras glares at his son. He leaves the room without another word. Enjolras mother stands up.

"I apologize to the both of you for his behavior. Nikolas, I would like a word with you please."

Enjolras nods. Éponine stands up. Before she can leave her name is called. She whirls. Enjolras is looking at her; his blue eyes are angry and concerned.

"Evangeline shall show you to your room." He looks like he wants to say something else but thinks better of it.

"Thank you."

The housemaid touches her back with a gently. Éponine looks to see Evangeline smiling kindly at her.

"Come with me, Mademoiselle Éponine."

Enjolras watches as Éponine is escorted away. His mother clears her throat and he finally turns his attention back to her.

"Your father-"

Enjolras shakes his head.

"I expected nothing less, Mama."

"He is pleased you are home," she says to reassure him. But he does not need that. He is the only heir to carry on the Enjolras legacy. Of course his father is relieved he is not dead, however it doesn't mean he is happy about it. He doesn't say anything. His mother sighs.

"There is one more thing, my son," she says nervously. "Your cousins will be arriving tomorrow. They will stay with us for the next four months."

Enjolras goes rigid. His cousins' aren't exactly the most heartwarming people. In fact, Enjolras prefers to keep his distance from his mother's side of the family. Their arrival isn't what worries him. He knows how they're going to treat Éponine and it leaves a bad feeling in his gut. Why did he have to come home? He should've brought her somewhere else, anywhere else. Enjolras knew she was strong. She could handle his father's distaste for her; she had done well so far. Could she handle another four people? Enjolras gives her a small smile. He can over think things by himself. He turns on his heels and heads straight toward the library. He heads straight for the bookshelves and chooses three thick law books. He sits on the sofa, the lights around the library flicker just as he opens the first one and then go out. Enjolras sighs before getting up to find the candles and matches. Once his task is accomplished he heads back to the sofa, pulling the book into his lap. He takes a moment to listen to his surroundings. The rain is splattering against the roof of the mansion. Thunder booms directly over him and he glances out into the darkness. A storm. That's just what I needs, he thinks. Enjolras contemplates throwing the book across the room then thinks better of it. There is a reason his friends call him a "marble statue." He does not let things get to him. He goes over the last few days in his head. He sits there for a long time, the book forgotten. It isn't until a quiet knock is heard at the entryway that he is brought out of his thoughts. His eyes move to the side and he sees Éponine standing there, a white shawl over her thin shoulders.

"May I join you?"

Enjolras scoots over to make room. She sits down tucking her feet beneath her. It's so unladylike that he can feel his lips twitch as he fights the urge to smile. She is looking at him.

"What are you reading?"

Enjolras sets the book on the table with the other two unopened books. Another wave of thunder roars overhead.

"A law book," he says.

"I can read," she says with a smirk. "A lot of people don't think I have the ability. But I do. I can write, too."

Enjolras admires the way she prides herself in the little things she does.

"That's wonderful, Éponine. Perhaps you can borrow some books if you'd like."

Her eyes light up.

"I'd like that." She pauses and the excitement seems to melt away. "What are your cousins like?"

He blinks at her in surprise. He saw her being led away, how could she possibly know? Éponine smiles mischievously at his expression, a troublemaker's smile. He'd seen that grin on Gavroche sometimes.

"You learn a few tricks growing up on the street," she says with a shrug. She taught Gavroche everything she knew until he was better at it than she was. He was small and innocent. It gave him an advantage that he used whenever it was necessary.

"I have no doubt about that," he says. "To answer your question, my cousins aren't company I enjoy. I pray that they don't bother you much during they're stay. They don't approve of the Amis' actions to help the oppressed. They believe that the rich should stay rich and the poor stay poor."

"I've meet worse people, Enjolras."

She closes her eyes and leans back against the sofa.

"Do you like your room?" he asks.

"It's different from what I'm used to." Her voice lowers and she yawns. She slides down slightly on the sofa. "Everything here is different."

Enjolras wonders why she hasn't returned to her chambers. Éponine seems content with sitting on the sofa; he can't imagine that position is comfortable. She doesn't complain once. Her eyes open for a moment; she looks startled for a moment. Then her eyes focus on him, she bites her lip. Her eyes are empty.

"And to answer your question from earlier, Enjolras: no I haven't faced my demons. _I can't_," she says in a grave voice. She takes a deep breath; it's harder to say the words out loud than in her head. But he waits patiently for her to finish. "I can't because there's too many and if I try and face them I'll lose."

She falls asleep in seconds. Enjolras takes a few moments to watch her. She whimpers and a stray tear slides down her cheek. Watching her expression, he closes his eyes to gather his thoughts.

Maybe one day they'll both be able to face they're demons. And maybe, just _maybe_, they'll win.

**Author's Note: Tell me what you think. Comments, suggestions, criticism, all welcome.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Sorry for the long wait guys. But thank you for your reviews, you are the BEST. I'll try to get the next chapter up as soon as possible. It's taking me long cause I want to get as much as I can in each chapter. Hope you're not disappointed. Review, please.**

Chapter 4

_And it's over_

_And I'm going under_

_But I'm not giving up_

_I'm just giving in_

_Never Let Me Go_

Éponine wakes to find herself still on the sofa but she is no longer in the curled up position she fell asleep in. She is lying stretched on the sofa with a blanket over her form and a pillow underneath her head. She sits up and attempts to rub the sleep away.

"You move a lot when you sleep during storms," a voice still laced with sleep informs her. "You kicked me last night."

Enjolras is sitting in the arm chair adjacent to her. He winces before sitting up properly. Éponine pushes the blanket away – she is not going to accept it, no matter how nice of an act it is. She gets to her feet, barefoot, as usual and runs her fingers through her hair. Enjolras rises to his feet.

"My cousins' will be arriving soon. You will find Evangeline upstairs to help you get ready."

She nods. She turns her back so she didn't see Enjolras have to shake his head vigorously, trying to clear his thoughts. Éponine rushes upstairs. Why in the world would he stay with her? He could've just left her there and returned to his room. If it was because of last night and he felt pity for her due to her confession she is going to smack him. Evangeline meets her at her door.

"Mademoiselle Éponine, how are you this morning?"

Éponine shrugs. She stares at Evangeline's unlined face. The woman is youthful – beautiful, really – but with the aura of someone older and wiser. She tilts her head in her direction.

"Evangeline, may I ask how old are you?"

"Twenty-three, Mademoiselle," she replies. There's a sad look in her eyes. She holds open Éponine's bedroom door while she enters. Then she heads toward the closet and pulls it open – revealing lavish gowns that hadn't been there before. She selects one for Éponine and holds it out towards her. The dress is black with gold designs stitched into the hems.

"It's beautiful," Éponine says. Evangeline gives her a knowing smile. Éponine goes behind the dressing curtain and slips off her nightgown. Evangeline helps her with her corset and ties up the laces, then helps her tie the ribbon of her dress. She sits while her hair is being done. Evangeline twists it into an elegant bun, letting a few stray pieces to hang around Éponine's face. Evangeline turns her to face her.

"You look beautiful, Mademoiselle. Don't let Master Enjolras cousins' get to you."

"It takes a lot to break me."

"They won't stop until they do."

There is a knock at the door. The two women turn to see Enjolras standing at the doorway. Evangeline bows to them both before shuffling past them. Enjolras enters the room. He is wearing a similar outfit to the one he wore at the barricade but with a blue vest. Éponine likes how it brings out his eyes.

"My cousins' have arrived." His tone is bleak; it matches the expression on his face.

"Are you here to warn me?"

"No. I'm here to escort you down."

Éponine stands up. She doesn't need to be escorted down. She has two feet and can walk perfectly fine on them, thank you very much. She grinds her teeth together.

"I can escort myself, Enjolras," she says sharply. She tries to walk past him but he catches her arm.

"I know you can, but I'm doing all I can to prevent a disaster from occurring. I don't want my cousins' to treat you like a street urchin."

"Newsflash, bourgeois boy, I _am_ a street urchin!"

He shakes his head, and Éponine has half a mind to just smack him upside the head. She has to resist the urge to run her fingers through her hair or tug at the pieces that dangle at the side of her face.

"Not by choice."

"No," she agrees. "Not by choice, but the damage is done. I can't change who I am."

He flashes the briefest hint of a smile. But his eyes give away his annoyance.

"I'd never ask that of you."

* * *

In the end, he does escort her down the stairs and into the den. She grips his arm more tightly than she should. She smiles to herself when he doesn't even wince as her nails dug through the fabric and into his skin. When they enter, the light conversation that had been struck up quiets down. There are four of them. Three females and one male, all with caramel colored hair and dark eyes, dressed in the finest clothes France can make. They scrutinize Éponine from where they stand. Madame Enjolras clears her throat delicately.

"Children, I would like to introduce Enjolras' fiancé Éponine."

They roll their eyes at being called "Children". Éponine forces a polite smile on her face. Being charming and deceitful where things that came with being a Thénardier. The male stares at her with an unreadable expression. The girls simply look away.

"I shall let you guys talk," she continues. Madame Enjolras squeezes her son's arm before exiting the room, closing the door softly behind her. The tense atmosphere causes Éponine to be on edge. Her guard is up. One of the girls, whom Éponine assumes is the oldest, steps forward.

"I'm Adrianne," she introduces. "These are my sister's Margaret and Beatrice and my brother Klaus."

"So you're little Nicky's fiancé, huh?" Klaus asks. He sounds…scornful and amused. Enjolras clenches his jaw shut, a muscle jumps in his cheek.

"Yes," he answers for her. "My love life is none of your business, Klaus."

Klaus holds up his hands. Beatrice snorts.

"Where'd you get this tramp? The docks?" she asks. She sneers at Éponine. "How much is he paying you, honey?"

Éponine feels her blood boiling. It is one thing to call her a tramp but another to pin it all on Enjolras. It may be his fault that they were stuck pretending to be engaged, but it is truly her fault. She was the one who asked him if he had any place in mind for them to go. And he chose to seek shelter at the only home he'd ever known.

"He isn't paying me anything," she hisses. Beatrice takes a step toward her.

"Watch your tone, Street trash. You should best remember your place."

"I don't respect anyone that doesn't deserve it."

"We'll see about that." Beatrice smiles cruelly. She grabs her sister and brother's arm and leaves the room with them. Adrianne stays behind. She is looking at Enjolras with an intense glare and he returns it. She smirks to herself and then leaves, shoving against Éponine's shoulder. Enjolras pulls her back before she can grab a fistful of Adrianne's hair.

"Do you want to leave?" he asks lowly.

"I want to yank their hair," she says. He doesn't smile or laugh. She sighs. "No. Leaving will just prove to them that I can't handle what they dish out."

"Éponine –"

"Do you want to leave?" she shoots back. He pauses, fingers raking through his hair.

"No," he admits. "Not yet."

Éponine nods. She smiles at him, that enduring gap toothed smile of hers. "Then what shall we do today, Monsieur?"

He rolls his eyes at her but offers his arm to her again.

"Ladies choice."

Éponine shakes her head at him. She links her arm through his, giving him that enduring smile of hers.

"That's the first time anyone's ever said that to me." then quietly she adds, "Thank you."

Éponine drags him over toward the music room. They plop down on the piano bench and Éponine lets go of his arm to run her fingers lightly over the keys.

"I've always wanted to learn," she says matter-of-factly. "But Mama and Papa could never afford it."

She doesn't mention that asking her parents earned her the first beating she'd ever received from her father. She pushes down on random keys, enjoying the different notes that play out. Enjolras cringes at the sound while she giggles.

"Do you play?" she asks. Enjolras gently pries her finger away.

"Yes."

"Play me something," she says. He shakes his head. "Please."

Enjolras gets up to leave but Éponine pulls him back down. She throws one leg over his and his face flushes red.

"No need to be bashful."

"I'm not," he snaps. He opens his mouth to apologize, but she is smirking back at him. He imagines all his friends and their reactions right now, Grantaire's smirk and Joly's laugh. Even beyond the grave, he can see them doubling over in laughter because even after all this he still does not know how to interact with the opposite sex.

"Then play something."

She's challenging him. He is so hell-bent on refusing to play and she is hell-bent on getting him to. They're like two magnets trying to be pushed together. Neither one yielding to the others desire.

"_No_."

"No," she mocks. "Come on. It's just one song." He doesn't answer her this time. He isn't even looking at her; he has his attention trained on the piano keys, as if he wishes them to burst into flames. Maybe he does. "I won't bother you about it anymore."

He rolls his eyes again. But instead of refusing, he lays his fingers over the keys. The music that fills the room is foreign but beautiful. Éponine has never heard this piece. She tilts her head on his shoulder, and he tenses in response. Éponine has to hold back a laugh.

"Calm down, I won't bite you," she says in a teasing voice over the music. He continues to play, acting as if she never spoke. His muscles stay tense. Éponine closes her eyes. The music unravels something inside her, a calmness that she forgot, something she grew up thinking she'd never be able to feel again. The music slowly drifts to an end. Éponine re-opens her eyes.

"Thank you," she repeats. He shakes his head. Éponine gets ready to shove him when he gives her a sideways glance.

"Thank you," he echoes.

Then he gives her the first real smile she's ever seen.

* * *

Éponine gives Enjolras time to read. He promises to meet her in an hour, so she wonders into the garden. She is barefoot because she misses the feeling, and the shoes sometimes hurt her feet. The sky is a dark gray, storming over the world and about to rain. Éponine misses this, the water and the shadows. It's who she is after all.

"You're going to catch your death out there!"

Klaus steps off the porch to join her. Éponine grits her teeth in annoyance. She wants to be alone. Obviously, the universe has other plans for her.

"So will you."

Evangeline appears on the porch and waves her forward. She hurries away without a goodbye and grabs Evangeline's awaiting hand.

"Stay away from him, Mademoiselle Éponine. He is bad news."

Éponine glances back at Klaus. "He doesn't seem so bad."

"Looks can be deceiving."

Éponine can't argue with that.

"Master Enjolras is looking for you," she says in a voice that gives away what she's trying to hide.

"He's supposed to be reading."

"He finished early."

"He should know I can take care of myself."

"He does know that," the person in question announces before walking into view. A thick book tucked beneath his arm. "He also wanted you to accompany him to run some errands."

Éponine shrugs. "Why not? It's not like you allow me to do anything else by myself."

He straightens up. His eyes blazing brightly like they always do when he starts to get defensive.

"I am not forcing you to accompany me Éponine, I just-"

Éponine holds up her hand.

"I was just teasing, Enjolras. No need to pop a vein."

He rolls his eyes at her words.

"You're impossible."

"So are you," she snaps. He doesn't reply, just walks away. Evangeline winks at Éponine before she follows him.

As they carry out Enjolras errands, it occurs to her he's agitated underneath the irritated façade he puts up with her. He keeps sneaking glances at her, opening his mouth to say something before shutting it again and looking away. After the fifth time, and the last errand they have to finish before returning home, she asks, "Do I have something on my face?"

He seems surprised at her words. The irritation disappearing as he slows to a stop. She stands across from him.

"No," he says quickly. "Éponine-"

She knows that tone. It's the one everyone around her used when she needed to be warned or something bad happened or was about to happen. She _hates_ that tone.

"My cousin Klaus is not someone you want to tangle with."

That's what he got so worked up for?

"I don't plan on it."

"He likes you," he says grudgingly. Éponine snorts. "You're a challenge. He likes those."

"I have no interest in your cousin, Enjolras."

He nods. "May I ask you something?"

She keeps her eyes level with his. She taps her fingers against her thigh, waiting.

"How would you like to learn the piano?" he continues. He barely has time to brace himself before she's throwing her arms around him and smiling so widely her dimples show. Her hair escapes its bun and cascades down her shoulders, all wild and loose. He takes that as a yes.

The next few days are spent with countless hours inside the music room. After she learns the keys, he teaches her a few simple songs. It's frustrating because she often makes mistakes and the rhythm is slower than it should be but she presses on. She tries again and again. And her determination never ceases to amaze him. Since talk of the barricade is taboo, they've finally found a common ground to bond over. Three weeks later, when she begins gets the hang of the speed she must play, Evangeline rushes into the room.

"Mademoiselle, Monsieur, there is someone here to see you."

Éponine feels a twinge of annoyance for being interrupted when she finally_, finally_, feels like she gets it she's stopped before she can perfect it. Enjolras stands up. He motions for her to follow and begins to walk out of the room.

"Who is it?" he asks Evangeline.

"All they said was that they were an old friend of yours."

Enjolras balls his hand into fists. Éponine steps behind him and grips his arm. All his friends died in the barricade; along with one of the people she considered her only family. Alzema is either with her parents or in jail. He doesn't stop his stride and with the way his shoulders slumps slightly in defeat, she is ready to punch whoever walked in the door for reminding him of the subject they tried to avoid. He places his hand over hers for a second before pushing her hand away. Éponine sighs. He doesn't always have to do things alone.

Standing in the doorway, hand in hand, are two people she doesn't expect. Marius and Cosette. They _are _married. She sees the bands on their fingers. The feeling of sadness passes over her but it's not from losing Marius forever. It's an entirely different reason, she's sad because she's missed their wedding, she's missed seeing him truly glow as he married his soul mate. The feeling surprises her. Éponine looks at Enjolras only to find him looking at her, studying her reaction, she gives him a small smile looking perfectly content. But in the walls of her mind, she's panicking because here's one of the demons she tries so hard to bury. Standing merely four feet away in a pretty pink dress with golden curls braided over one shoulder with a light pink ribbon.

**Hope you guys liked it.**


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